The reason of Brixton’s absence was explained to him by Betty, who bustled about the house packing up the few things that could be carried away, while her father and Fred busied themselves with the cart and horses outside. Meanwhile the Irishman continued to refresh himself with the bread and cheese.
“Ye see it’s o’ no manner o’ use me tryin’ to help ye, my dear,” he said, apologetically, “for I niver was much of a hand at packin’, my exparience up to this time havin’ run pretty much in the way o’ havin’ little or nothin’ to pack. Moreover, I’m knocked up as well as hungry, an’ ye seem such a good hand that it would be a pity to interfere wid ye. Is there any chance o’ little Tolly turnin’ up wi’ the pony before we start?”
“Every chance,” replied the girl, smiling, in spite of herself, at the man’s free-and-easy manner rather than his words. “He ought to have been here by this time. We expect him every moment.”
But these expectations were disappointed, for, when they had packed the stout little cart, harnessed and saddled the horses, and were quite ready to start, the boy had not appeared.
“We durstn’t delay,” said Paul, with a look of intense annoyance, “an’ I can’t think of how we are to let him know which way we’ve gone, for I didn’t think of telling him why we wanted another pony.”
“He can read, father. We might leave a note for him on the table, and if he arrives before the robbers that would guide him.”
“True, Betty; but if the robbers should arrive before him, that would also guide them.”
“But we’re so sure of his returning almost immediately,” urged Betty.
“Not so sure o’ that, lass. No, we durstn’t risk it, an’ I can’t think of anything else. Poor Tolly! he’ll stand a bad chance, for he’s sure to come gallopin’ up, an’ singin’ at the top of his voice in his usual reckless way.”
“Cudn’t we stick up a bit o’ paper in the way he’s bound to pass, wid a big wooden finger to point it out and the word ‘notice’ on it writ big?”